Posts of Thought
by Olivia Beige
Summary: Hedwig witnesses a series of exchanges which has a vague fate of being fully uncovered.


**Disclaimer:** The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

The other owls called her vain, but her little master called her Hedwig. Beautiful, clever Hedwig.

He knew her favourite treats and took care not to hurt her leg with the cords. His fingers were her feathers' fervent admirers. When he took walks alone or with his friends, she was allowed a perch of confidence on his shoulder and fond nibbles at his ear.

Her little master had no trouble seeking her out, he told her. No other owl in the castle had the same feather colour, after all.

She tossed her head. But of course.

The other owls ruffled their wings in irritation, but her little master just released the rolled parchment from the tumble of knots and grinned at her. "Beautiful, clever Hedwig."

#####

The pile of sweets, cards and bright parcels was obstinately taller than she was, yet none of them had been entrusted to Hedwig. Oh no, other dull-coloured owls flew into her little master's window.

She shifted and tried to quell her worry. He had been unconscious for two days now. Blessedly, the matron seemed competent enough. And strict enough. Why, just yesterday, the lady had arrested the personal delivery of a – what was it? A toilet seat? – by two Cheshires.

Deciding that being eventually shooed away would be abominable, she flew off to stretch her wings for a while.

The sun-glittered grounds were teeming with little rascals, all with varying relationships with clothing articles. Absent ties, absent socks. Rolled-up sleeves, open collars.

She sniffed. Her little master only had trouble with fixing his hair.

Then she noticed someone with a different feather colour. Hair, rather. Whichever, she had always tried to tell her little master.

She circled above the little boy's breeze-ruffled hair, and then hooted over his large friends' laughter. They eyed her curiously then, their cards and sweets falling on their laps.

"It's a snowy owl," one slurred. "Ow!"

"I'll tell your father you're not pronouncing vowels," the largest grunted, withdrawing his elbow. Then he bit off a chocolate pastry, all the while peering at Hedwig. "It has no letter or anything."

Finally, the little boy with the different hair colour frowned. "It's Potter's owl."

Potter. That's her little master!

"Potter's out cold," Slurring said.

"We know that, Vincent," the little boy snapped. Pastry chewed agreeably. The little boy glared at both of them, then turned to consider Hedwig once more.

"I bet you were very busy delivering Potter's piles of gifts," he said sourly.

No, she wasn't, and that made her just as sour.

Then his eyebrow twitched and he turned to the sweets on the grass. Hedwig slowed down her circling and watched as the little boy eagerly gathered some in a paper bag.

Her heart almost trilled with delight when the little boy lifted his arm for her to settle on. Slurring and Pastry gaped before rumbling the air with their sniggers.

"Take these to Potter." The little boy's hands twitched with glee as he attached the bag with the help of his wand. "The best of flavoured beans."

She was already a few feet above them when she heard the "I'll see if Father can buy me a snowy – "

Well, Hedwig hoped not.

#####

Hedwig had finished detaching the parcels from the Mother Weasley, when four owls puffed into the window, a long package between them. She knew at once that it was a broomstick. Her little master had spent days morosely staring at the splinters of the old one. Even Hedwig had feared that they might be unable to fly together for a long time.

She waited for the rugged owls to leave, not without glaring at the small tawny for toppling over and nearly ripping the paper with wet talons. Then she hopped out of the warm tower room and lazily soared around, eager for further deliveries for her little master.

In one of the tall windows of an upper floor, she glanced at a very light hair colour. She was perched on the sill beside that human in an instant.

"Scrounging gifts for Potter?" the little boy asked after some moments. He was clutching a book stuffed with parchment and he regarded her with annoying raised eyebrows. At least, he was stuck with that poncy eagle owl.

The she caught up with what he had remarked. Hedwig hooted reprovingly – she does _not _scrounge!

He gazed at her some more with an odd lip quirk, then sat his book beside her. The little boy proceeded to smooth out a parchment, and on it, he placed clover leaves, a couple of acorns and a flower which causes an itch.

She nipped at his hand.

"Ow!" He jerked the appendage away and shook it a bit, glaring with amused disbelief. "Salazar, you're horrid."

The little boy removed the flower, thankfully, and replaced it instead with something called 'Acid Pops'.

Later that evening, her little master opened the parchment and curiously looked at the contents. He yelped when the sweets burned a hole on his tongue, while his little Ron laughed at the prancing spectacle he made. The clovers were lost in the graveyard that was his trunk's bottom, but the acorns were kept as 'pseudo Snitches'.

#####

Barely a few months had passed when Hedwig met the little boy again in the same place. With a scowl which contradicted the grounds' blossoming radiance, he tied a small pouch on her leg and curled his lip.

"You can tell Potter to pray that he stay long enough on that Firebolt of his!"

Her little master lasted only half a bean, which he spat during dinner. He rescued his tongue with juice and grumbled about the mud-flavoured things.

#####

Little Hermione had been badgering little Ron and Hedwig's little master to talk. Or, at the very least, send notes to one another.

Yes, Hedwig thought dryly. Because their beds were next to each other. And they sat only a person away from each other during classes.

Her little master was adamant that he was in the right. He refused to talk to his friend with all the stubbornness of stuck frog flesh, and ranted instead to the empty room and Hedwig, who just happened to be there. When he became tired, he would slouch over a blank parchment and broodingly chew on his quill.

In one such instance, Hedwig huffily dived into the chilly evening air. It would be more interesting to pass the time amongst the exquisite carvings on the castle's windows, rather than with her little master's performance of snarls and mutterings.

It was undiluted coincidence that she met the little boy, beside a window on the library corridor.

The two of them were silent for some time, gazing at the docked foreign ship, besides the colossal romancing of friendly Hagrid and the foreign headmistress.

"Well, well," the little boy said quietly. "Is the friendship in hippogriff's droppings already?"

Hedwig hooted dolefully.

"I always thought that the Weasel's intolerable." The little boy uncrossed his arms and rested his palms on the sill. He sounded like he discovered the next multi-nutrient owl treat. "And Potter's just as annoying as he is. So perhaps they deserve each other."

She glared at him, ready to claw at those long fingers at the next insult to her little master.

Friendly Hagrid and the big madame eventually vanished from sight, and the grounds remained peaceful save for the rustling of the grass beneath the moon's gentle gaze.

"I wonder if he did enter himself."

Hedwig felt a flare of warmth at the non-accusation. The little boy's was one of the very, very few and she wished that she could cheer up her little master with it.

The little boy was not done. "He's too daft to have done that, anyway."

She gave an indignant sound and took off without another glance.

It may have been the wind, but Hedwig's hearing picked up a delighted chuckle.

#####

The splendor of the skyline that she considered as home was more subdued nowadays. The countryside still possessed the melded purple and green and brown, with the occasional flares of red and orange. The clouds still swirled with a lethargic elegance, unmindful of Hedwig and her peers. But it seemed as though a particular shine was missing.

Hedwig did not know that the lack of luster would hound her even after leaving the Dog Man's house. She always felt a melancholy following her tail whenever that man would send her away with mail and troubled eyes.

As if the world was telling her that her feathers had become too filthy, stuck with the colour of her little master's old socks.

Hedwig landed with a whisper outside her little master's tower window. He saw her immediately and opened the pane, disrupting Hedwig's inspection of the sunset reflected on the glass.

Her little master took the letter with furrowed brows and exhausted eyes. With two pieces of her favourite treat and a ghost of his affectionate petting, he returned to his little friends.

Hedwig finished the treats; such flavour never went to waste. But afterwards, she took off again to escape the plague of gloom that surely came from the summertime at the Dog Man's house.

From the owl's tower room came the grumbles and tittering of the others, and Hedwig felt like gleaning rumours.

She gathered, instead, the sight of someone at window. Someone who seemed to be immune to all the silliness and glumness.

The little boy was leaning on the ledge, happily eating treats of his own. He smiled his quirky smile when Hedwig alighted beside his sweets.

"I'm waiting for a letter from home," he began, as he made a wrapper disappear with his wand. "I told Father that revision's going splendidly. And I'm certain Mother's going to replenish these; they're my last batch."

He glanced at Hedwig. She continued to watch his polite way of chewing.

"I've never collapsed due to nerves," he continued. "Did you know that almost everyone's gone mad over revision? Even that Granger…"

Hedwig felt like nipping his finger without hostility. In a long time, someone talked to her with more than two sentences.

"I think showing hysteria's just not the way." He disposed another wrapper, the breeze from outside bringing a healthy colour to his exposed skin. "I think the way's eating these. Brain sugar."

Hedwig tilted her head.

"People fail exams because they eat too early. I will be bringing sweets in June."

They stayed there until the sun finally slept, with the little boy occasionally spouting thoughts like "Pink's the murder of colours." or "I wish I had a Time-Turner." or "I hope Nott would stop snoring. I tried to stuff his head in a pillowcase, once."

And Hedwig let his sugar-laced chatter lull her in sleepy contentment.

Which was abruptly destroyed by the eagle owl, the ponce.

The little boy pocketed his mail and attended to his owl, which sported a kind of magnanimous exhaustion. Hedwig was resisting the appeal of sliding into a sulky mood, when a small container was placed in front of her.

"I figured you might be thirsty."

And then the little boy left with a snatch of a tune, leaving the container like a naughty child. Her little master always put it back in the small shelf.

But Hedwig didn't mind. She _had _been thirsty.

As she removed her head from the tin can of bliss, Hedwig saw that the little boy left something. From his last batch of treats. She hopped closer and realized that it was a rewrapped bar of chocolate with unlikely little lumps.

It was curious.

But Hedwig was a clever owl.

#####

That night, her little master returned, whispering to his little Ron about spells and magic coins and pink toads. They changed clothes and soon, little Ron surrendered to his pillows.

But her little master went to the bathroom.

She found him on the floor, his back propped against the cool wall, a wet towel on his face. Hedwig settled on his lap, beside his weary glasses.

With her soft hoot, the sweets tumbled down and her little master slid the towel down his surprised face.

A small smile. "Hullo, Hedwig. Where did you get these?"

He unwrapped the little package and the lumps turned out to be –

"Oh! Treacle beans!"

The next moment was subtle magic, as her little master's face was smoothened by a brightening without the aid of any wet towel. When he finished the beans, he began a contemplative nibbling of the chocolate. And the petting of Hedwig.

She gave a soft hoot of delight.

It was then that her little master fully looked at her.

"Were these conveniently lying about, or did someone give them to you?"

She hooted.

Her little master frowned, then scratched his head. "Er…right. Shouldn't have…" The petting stopped; Hedwig gently nudged his hand.

"Were they conveniently lying about?"

They were, in fact. But Hedwig was clever; she remained in a cloud of petting.

"So, did someone give them to you?"

She hooted.

"Was it Umbridge?" came the frantic whisper.

Hedwig remained silent.

"Oh. That's…good." His hand relaxed and the motions on her feathers became smoother. The bathroom remained comfortably hushed, like most her time with her little master. Even without his words, Hedwig just _felt _and _knew._

"I wish I could meet them."

Hedwig's last sight was the peculiar look on her little master's face.

It was as though he was about to smile.

#####

It was a morning laden with lemon light. Hedwig glided to the large tree near the greenhouses and found the usual sight of the little boy with his books and fresh breeze and cherished solitude.

She dropped the charcoal-and-teal quill that her little master had held out while biting his lip. Then, she continued on a graceful arch towards the sky.

If the little boy stared at it for too long, she never really knew. She was keenly inhaling the faint sweetness in the air, and that slight luster that she could feel.

#####

It was a day for visiting that place called Hogsmeade. The last time that her little master did, he came back without his blush and the pretty girl who made him behave like a faltering tune.

Hedwig swooped in with the other owls during the morning meal and dived for the chattering rascals. She dropped the suspiciously wriggling pouch and proceeded to taste the drink in her little master's cup.

Her little master's silly yelp made her jerk her head mid-sip and stain some of her feathers with the piercing shade of … orange!

Oh, she was displeased and made it known by ruffling her feathers in a way that scattered vile orange drips everywhere. Maddeningly, the chaos around the table trumped her efforts.

A creature, with a long snout and greedy eyes, dived for her little master's plate and robes. Little Hermione dived for the robes just as superbly and started groping for the pockets in search of the clinking coins. Little Ron flicked his eyes to the High Table before shouting, "Stun it! Stun it!" as he brandished his wand.

The creature twisted and wriggled, in a race with little Hermione's fingers. She had successfully removed the money pouch and was in a tussle of robes with Hedwig's uncooperative little master.

"Your trousers, Harry! Pockets!" she screeched as she joined him in grappling his robes upwards.

Hedwig turned her head away. Someone was yelling at her little master to "Quit moving!" so that the creature could be Stunned. But she was certain that her little master continued with his odd jig; he was rather ticklish.

There were shrieks, a scattering of coins, and then a severe voice calling for order. Hedwig knew it belonged to the tall bespectacled witch, who proceeded to speak of 'childish', 'not of level mind', 'Did anyone think of a Summoning Spell?'.

As a series of mumbled apologies ensued, Hedwig saw the little boy quietly laughing with the others.

But his eyes held mischievous glee.

#####

Frogs, and their succulent flesh encased in velvety skin. Hedwig adored their twitchy motions and their blank, bulging eyes. She also thought that a prize helping of the delicacy saved her a few more pieces of her favourite treat.

She spat a bone and an eyeball, and watched with fascination as they tumbled and frolicked with the snow. A brown furry creature with offending teeth looked at her reproachfully from another branch. Hedwig thought that it must be jealous.

From her leafless perch, Hedwig could see a monotone of white with staccatos of visible tree trunks, the castle's turrets and friendly Hagrid's caked home. As far a she gazed, there was that faintly glittering white pile.

A few yards away, the snow's monotone screeched to a halt. A figure flailed and blundered, but it was not friendly Hagrid. Rather, it was an inky pile of robes and very, very light hair.

Hedwig flew to him and landed on a boulder just as the little boy scrambled to his feet and shook his robes. He was pink-faced and when he peered at Hedwig, she feared that he had forgotten about her.

"Oh. It's you."

She had never seen him look so tired and glum. The plague of moroseness came late to the little boy in its malicious quest.

"You did not see that," he told her in a low voice, sweeping his wand along his robes, leaving not a trace of snow in sight.

Then, he sighed.

Hedwig tilted her head.

He made to sit on the boulder; Hedwig made room for him.

"I'm in dire need of sleep. Look at my eyes, weighed down by the hideous shadows."

What a change that the many, many months had wrought! Hedwig wished she had seen it done, that she had seen the little boy as soon as they arrived three months ago.

"I want to sleep." He tucked his hands inside his sleeves and faced her, a fog of fatigue caressing his face. "But I want that sleep that buries the consciousness. Nowadays…I just rest on the surface."

Hedwig gave a soft hoot.

"And I'm very tired. I just fell on my face! Best of bloody luck that no one's around."

She rustled her wings. He gazed at her with downturned lips.

"You don't count. You won't chatter away."

Hedwig thought that the little boy was rather imposing, but then his hand reached forward and petted her beak. If he only knew that said beak also came in contact with frogs. And her little master's fingers and ears.

She decided not to nip the gentle fingers and spare him the filthy things. From him, she heard other things besides mail.

"Tell Potter – " the little boy began. Then, he stopped. A few more gusts of fog were exhaled before he started talking about Apparition lessons and sneaky naps.

#####

The other owls in the tower room had the single importance as a feathery body of hooting details.

And so one morning, with a strong flavour of _change _in the humid early July sky, Hedwig flew to the little boy's big home. It was a flight of clear skies, numerous neighborhoods, glittering cities and stretches of plains. She had frequent stops for water but she steadily beat her wings, for her little master always talked of 'uncertainties' and 'going away' in the last few days.

Beneath a wide-canopied tree at the back of the manor, she found the little boy dully playing with pebbles, looking as tired as he had last winter.

She landed on his raised arm, while he threw a quick look at the house. Then he turned to her with a bitten-off smile.

Neither of them made a sound.

Hedwig wanted to ask if he had any imaginary messages again. Could she tell her little master something? Would she send her little master something? But the little boy was silent and pale as he offered her nuts.

She finished the lot with frequent pauses as she considered these things. The last swallow was trailed with the little boy gazing at her, a fleeting softness in his eyes.

And she inclined her head, hoping that he understood that she dearly wanted to be beautiful, clever Hedwig to him and to her little master.

If they ever sent each other post in the years to come.

_**fin**_


End file.
